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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24902374">Healthy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonoosmith/pseuds/loonoosmith'>loonoosmith</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eating Disorders, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, orthorexia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:47:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24902374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonoosmith/pseuds/loonoosmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At 23 yrs old, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have long gotten over their schoolboy animosity. However, when the two are forced to work a case at St. Mungo’s together, Draco starts to notice that Harry’s eating habits are… off.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Healthy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione was pregnant. After a full year of marriage, she’d gotten pregnant, meaning Harry owed Ginny a galleon. He smiled absently as he skimmed Ron’s letter, wishing ruefully that he could go celebrate the news with them in person tonight. While his friends celebrated, he, Harry, would be at home with the flu. It wasn’t even a wizarding illness, just plain old muggle flu. Despite all Hermione waxed on about how blood purity didn’t matter, it was undeniable that the more muggle blood you had in you, the more susceptible you were to the kind of illnesses magic couldn’t fix. Blood purity did matter, although not in the way Voldemort had thought it had. If his mom hadn’t been Muggleborn this entire illness wouldn’t have affected him in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry sniffed miserably and turned over in bed. He wasn’t even ill enough to not be able to work, but he couldn’t go to work for fear of contaminating muggle visitors or mixed bloods. Magic was volatile, especially healing magic, and the slightest difference in one’s own health could mean the difference between life and death. Casting, or Merlin forbid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>operating</span>
  </em>
  <span> while ill with even a Muggle sickness could cripple a patient for life. Harry knew all this, but it made him no less miserable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time I was sick with a Muggle illness anyways? I think I was about 10,” he thought absently to himself, then turned over to the other bed. He was hot. He’d been laying in bed far too long, delaying the inevitable. With a groan Harry rolled out of bed and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Kreacher’s death a few months ago, Harry had started having to sort out food for himself more and more often, and it was increasingly annoying just how much effort it took to eat healthy, clean foods. He found himself more and more reluctant to eat at all for the effort it took. In fact, recently he’d just been grabbing an apple or banana instead of eating a proper healthy breakfast. He figured it couldn’t be too harmful, since fruits were healthy enough, especially since they weren’t particularly juicy ones. He had a real thing about juicy fruits, like plums and mangos. They just seemed so … sugary. That was of course ridiculous, but personal preferences were personal preferences, and it wasn’t like he was causing himself any harm by not eating certain fruits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry sniffed once again as he walked into the kitchen and pulled Mucinex down from the potions shelf. He dry swallowed the pill, put on a pot of tea, and was suddenly faced with the task of making breakfast. It seemed strangely … overwhelming. But that was, of course, ridiculous because it was just food. It was mildly annoying at most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the kettle boiled, Harry stalked the shelves for something healthy to have for breakfast. He was sick after all, and it was more important now than ever that he not pollute his body with junk if he were to go back to work tomorrow. He stared at the options before him, cycling through possible meal plans before the kettle hissed, pulling him out of his trance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushed to fix up a cup of ginger tea as quick as possible before he decided he would risk making pancakes. It was risky, but it should be low calorie and sweet if he made it with bananas and almond milk. One of Harry’s fatal flaws was that he always seemed to crave sweets most when he was sick, and really shouldn’t have them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he sprinkled cinnamon over the pancakes that he’d made, it suddenly hit him like ice that he had absolutely no idea how many calories were in cinnamon. Quickly, he weighed the plate again, although the food scale he’d bought the year prior didn’t go into small enough increments to regard the added weight of the seasoning. This was bad. He checked the container to see if the calories were at least listed in some measurement there, so he could eyeball it and estimate how much that added to his food, but the calories weren’t listed there either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he muttered aloud, mind racing. Setting the cinnamon down abruptly, Harry dashed into the library, trying to think of where he might find the calorie count for cinnamon. He rifled through the shelves, trying to find his old healing book on nutrition. He hadn’t read it in a while, since he’d pretty much memorized the content back in his second year at university. But he couldn’t think of anywhere else he could find the information. Come to think of it, did cinnamon even have calories to begin with? He could only remember reading about the health benefits of it. Maybe it was like tea?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He skimmed the book and several others in the library, but none could give him the exact caloric value of cinnamon. It was … more troubling to him than he’d like to admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe cinnamon just doesn’t have calories?” he mused quietly to himself as he trudged back down to the kitchen. As he looked at the pancakes once again, he felt disgusted. They seemed laden in fat, although he knew they had virtually none and that fat, in small doses, was good for you. He sat down at the table and poked at them, watching how they responded to his fork. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cinnamon. How many calories over had it sent him? He couldn’t get fat, and in order to stay trim he had to stay within his calorie limit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the pancakes for a moment more, trying to decide whether he should eat them or not. He knew he should eat them, as breakfast was important, but he couldn’t seem to get the cinnamon out of his head. Making a split second decision, he pulled out his wand and evanescoed the food off the plate. He was an adult! He didn’t have to eat something if he didn’t want to. He looked around the kitchen for something else to eat, but it felt too cumbersome to even consider something else. The pancakes had been enough of an ordeal. But could he really skip a meal?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing his tea and heading back up to his room, he decided that yes, he could. He was an adult, and ate healthy, he could afford to skip a meal if he wanted to. He would just make it up later on. Besides, wasn’t it better to skip a meal than to eat something disgusting like he really wanted to right now? His stomach growled as he curled back up in bed, memories of the fabulous feasts of Hogwarts dancing through his brain, taunting him. He wished he could afford to eat like he had back then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Harry set his tea to the side and laid back down in bed in an attempt to get more sleep. As his stomach growled once more, it occurred to him that maybe eating this healthy all the time wasn’t normal. But no, that was silly… right? Shrugging it off, Harry fell back asleep, dreaming of the food he couldn’t eat.</span>
</p>
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